The End Came With a Kiss (23 page)

Fists pound against my forearm and nails scratch down my arm and side. I grapple her by the torso, trapping her arms against her rapidly contracting ribs and twisting her so that I am on her side. Her head jabs at me and catches me in the cheek twice before I am able to shift behind her and lock my legs around her waist.

"Katherine! Stop! It's me, stop!"

She continues to writhe, screaming out at the top of her lungs. I hope Betty can't hear her; I've already seen the horrifying results of an angry Betty. For a little thing, she was able to do a lot of unbridled damage.

I'd clamp my hand on Kate's mouth, but I'm afraid I would lose a finger and get infected at the same time. My only option is to give her the sedative and try again in fifteen minutes.

I release her right arm as I go for the shot. Instantly her nails dig into my leg, through my pants. The pain fires up my thigh and into my belly. She is kicking and wiggling. There is precious little time. I grip it, pull it, and stab. Kate rips free of my left arm and turns on me. Rage distorts her perfect features. I brace for her attack, but it doesn't come. She seems to sense the drug in her flesh, numbing her brain. Like a switch, her aggression fades, her body deflates, and she sinks into my arms, resting her beautiful cheek against my heaving chest. I grip her matted blonde hair and hold her silently, as we lay on the floor in a tangled sprawl.

"Are you okay in there?" says Harry's deep voice through the speaker.

"Yeah. We're just having a little bonding time."

"You need any help?"

"Yeah. See if you can find a flashlight in our supplies. I need one you can hold and point."

"Can do, boss."

I allow myself a moment to rub my fingers through Katherine's hair, then I prop her up against the metal cabinet so her back is to the lab. I need to trick her mind into believing this is our living room and give her the things she needs to loop.

I have James and Harry break down the work table and move it out so there is an open familiar space in the center.

I find a cardboard box that is about as long as our coffee table and cut it to the right height. Then I move a storage locker to the back and left, where our armoire sits, and put the flashlight in the top drawer. I'm not sure how she'll react when she attempts to leave this room and move about the house, but my hope is that she will adapt.

Last, I put a book on the far back table of the chamber and stab my jackknife into the top. When she needs to run to the kitchen looking for the knife rack, perhaps she will see the jackknife sticking up and be able to find her bearings.

Oh! I almost forgot. I'll need an opened can of food and a spoon.

Katherine is already beginning to stir, so I ask Harry to bring me one as I take position next to her, our backs to the metal cabinet. Her eyes open, and her head looks like it is moving through pudding.

I twist at the waist and cradle her head in my hands, rubbing the spot where her mole used to be. Her eyes lock on me, and I can see her slip into a motion memory. I don't know what it is, but I know that holding her face like this triggers it. If not for the chill of her skin, I could believe she is alive again. I could believe this intimate moment is real.

She pulls free of my hands and starts to mouth words. This process is almost complete, and she will be searching for a new one.

"I'll get you something to eat," I say, getting up. She stares blankly in front of her. Is it working? Is she safely in a section of her main loop?

I've never figured out why this memory is so important to her. I guess it’s no different than thinking back on my own life. Why can I remember something random like scratching my name on a school bus seat, but forget big things, important things. Who can understand the workings of the human mind? Surely not me.

I look out the glass at Harry, standing patiently with a can of corn. When he sees me nod, he comes through the decon chamber and hands me the items. He is wise to not say a word, and leaves me to my task.

I stab the spoon into the slop of corn and head back over to Katherine. She receives it gratefully and begins to eat. It still amazes me how it can be anything. If I were to hand her a can of celery stalks, she would put the spoon down and eat the stalks with her fingers. There is some adaptation involved. It isn't motion memory alone.

I seat myself next to her and lean my shoulder against the cabinet. Does she feel the cold hard metal of the cabinet against her back, or does her mind tell her it is the soft cushion of the couch in our living room? Who knows? All that matters is, she is in the moment, and she's looping. It’s small, but it's a victory.

When she’s done, she sets the can beside her and rests her hands in her lap. Now we wait for the switch to flip in her brain to send her into the next section. Will it? Is it something that fires off on its own, or is there an outside stimulus, something in our home that prods the transition?

We wait for a long time, but I'm fine with this. At least she’s awake. Every minute I don't have to use drugs to sedate her is another minute Lau can use to get a formula made, and another minute I don't have to watch her descend into insanity because the drugs no longer work.

Without warning she climbs to her feet. This is it. She’s looking toward the cardboard covered wall, hopefully, seeing the television, and taking note that it, and all the lights have shut off. She moves around the box I have fashioned into a coffee table, only grazing it slightly. Her hands are stretched out, groping for the armoire.

I climb to my feet and take up position behind her. The work cabinet is half the size of our armoire and does not have cabinet doors on top. She doesn't appear to be adapting to the height. Even though the drawers are right there in front of her, she is slapping the wall and swinging her hand out to the right, groping to find the side of the Armoire.

I reach out and gently guide Katherine's arms down toward the drawer. She pulls away violently, shakes her head and starts again to reach out to the right. Shuffling to the side, her hands are inches from the back wall. When she realizes it is the wall, will she work her way back, or will she lose her mind? A vision of her going for the knife and stabbing at me with it rattles my nerves, but I shrug it off and slide the drawer open and take the flashlight out.

"It's to the left," I blurt, hoping this phrase I have said to her so many times before will trigger something, slow her down, anything. But there is no visible response. Her hand is still groping. Her fingers are almost to the wall.

I come around with the flashlight and touch the back of her swinging hand with it. She flinches and grunts for a second, then reaches out again.

"Here, Katherine. I found the flashlight." I know, even as I say the words, that this is hopeless. I'm asking her to step too far away from the programmed sequence in her head. But what she will and will not respond to is so random, anything is worth a try.

I push the flashlight forward again, and she shoves it back with another grunt. Her hands slap the wall, her fingers squeeze into fists, and she begins a deep groan that breaks my heart to hear.

"I know you're trying, honey. I know you want to figure this out." I come up beside her and offer the flashlight again. "You can do this, Kate. Just reach out and take the flashlight."

Her head shakes furiously and she groans again from the gut. My emotions are a strange mix of compassion and fear. I want to hold her and comfort her, but the pain of our last encounter is a stark reminder that this is not a lover’s quarrel. She is a caged animal, and more than capable of killing me. I take a step back as she spins around, confused and frightened.

"It's okay, Katherine." I say, throwing a palm out toward her, the flashlight still held out in the other. "All you have to do is take the flashlight."

Her face melts and tightens. Her posture shifts. She’s going to attack!

I reach behind my back, pull the tranquilizer gun, and swing it around. I manage to get a dart off before she is in the air, her nails going for my face. I push my forearm up just in time to sweep her arms up. Our bodies collide, pushing me to the ground.

Once again, the anticipation of the drug taking over her senses lulls her into a pacified state. I wrap my arm around her cold neck and across her back and pull her into me as we lay on the floor. My other hand sets the gun down and I rub her head in a gentle embrace.

"We'll figure this out, Kate. It's going to be okay."

25

Harry and I fashion a top to the work cabinet that will feel like the Armoire, but it is sadly inadequate, given the material we have and the time we had to make it. But what’s most important is, it has two pieces of wood glued to the face that feel like cabinet doors when you touch them.

Harry picks up his tools and remnants of wood chips and Formica while I take my position beside Katherine. Her body is beginning to stir again.

When she looks ready, I reach out and cradle her head with my hands, rubbing the spot where her mole used to be. She looks at me adoringly, oblivious to the fact that she tried to kill me fifteen minutes ago. I return the look, pretending that her skin is not ice cold to my touch. We stay like this for the allotted time, and the sequence ends as it always does, with Kate's head pulling back and her mouth uttering words I can't make out.

"I'll get you something to eat," I say, rising to my feet.

The can is already opened and in place near the book with the knife sticking out of it, hopefully further establishing the back wall as the kitchen. This time it’s beans. I bring it back to her.

She receives it with the same mock gratefulness she always does, and I sit back down next to her. So far, so good. She finishes her meal, sets the can next to her, and puts her hands in her lap. Now we must wait to see if she will make it through the next loop. If she can, I may be able to get her to run a few random home processes, like sweep the floor, or fold some laundry. That will go a long way toward stretching out how long I'll have before having to fall back on the sedatives.

Kate stands and starts the next sequence, slowly groping her way, stiff legged, toward the newly constructed armoire, as though the effort is excruciating. Her fingertips hit it dead center and slide down to the knobs of the drawer and pull out. A wave of relief washes over me. She did it. She's going for the flashlight.

I get up and position myself in the center of the room, while Kate stoops over, attempting to turn the flashlight on. Does it matter that this flashlight is longer than ours and more of a tube in shape?

She begins to growl.

"It's okay, Kate. This flashlight will work."

Her body shivers and the growl grows.

"You can do this, Katherine. Turn the flashlight on."

The growl cuts off abruptly, her hands lift, and she points the flashlight out in front of her. She did it. She adapted to the flashlight and is moving forward, swinging it to look at the room. Is this really going to work?

She stops. Her face looks confused. Her eyes are studying the wall. The nervous breath fluttering has started again. She walks forward two more steps, but that’s as far as she gets. There is no bumping off the walls. There is no walking in place. Though her fantasy tells her it is dark, her eyes are clearly registering that this is not her living room. The flashlight falls from her fingers and crashes against the hard tile floor, shattering the glass. This launches her into an ear-splitting scream, her fists clenched and her face hard with rage. I pull the tranquilizer gun as quickly as I can and fire a dart into her soft shoulder.

The scream dies and she sinks to the floor, the threat of her fury contained. But we have a new problem. Betty is pounding in the other chamber.

26

Before Betty can do too much damage to her room, the dog, or herself, I tranquilize her as well. She should come out of it and resume her loop—at least that is my hope. We've never had to tranquilize her before. Once that is done, I set Katherine back in her starting position and join the others in the lab.

Everyone seems strangely quiet. They all look like they want to say something to me, well, everyone but Lau, who is still engrossed in his work, and Luci, who is sitting mindlessly in front of a bowl of oatmeal.

"What?" I say, regarding them all.

Harry rubs the light fuzz on the top of his big head as he says, "I've never seen anything like that."

They all look so somber, like someone has died.

"Like what?"

"I saw my sister's husband change. I saw my friend's sister change. I even watched my own wife change. But I never saw any of them act like that."

"What do you mean? They all loop, Harry."

"Yeah, they loop," he says with a slow bow of his neck. "When my wife turned, she started to loop. She was so beautiful after the change. The weight she had gained over the years was gone, and the circles she had under her eyes because of long nights with the children were smooth like chocolate. She was more beautiful than the day I married her. And I would have done anything to protect her, to be with her. But she was a monster if I got in her way. Any little thing I did wrong was like flicking a switch in her head. She'd come unglued at the seams."